


Prosecco and Paperwork

by ktbl



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Champagne, F/M, Kissing, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Netherrealm War, New Year's Eve, Pre-MKX, Pre-Timeskip, Sex, Touch-Starved, Vulnerability, young!Kenshi, young!Sonya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: “You going home soon, Major?”She felt a surge of annoyance at being caught out daydreaming. Her office was tiny - it barely constituted an office, frankly - but it was hers as head of the interrealm strike team, and the intrusion rankled. She looked up to see the swordsman that had taken to running with them in recent months casually leaning against her doorframe. Johnny Cage had found him, or he’d found Johnny - she was still a little rough on the details - but Takahashi Kenshi had been a useful ally against the persistent demons. She still wasn’t sure what she thought of a guy claiming to be a telepath, though she’d seen the telekinesis first hand. He had a smart mouth but the skills to back it up. He was damn good in a fight, pulled his weight, and had more than three brain cells bouncing around in that head of his.Succinctly, he hit a bunch of her buttons and was a recipe for temptation that she could not afford to give into.
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Takahashi Kenshi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Prosecco and Paperwork

Sonya groaned and rested her head on her hands, closing her eyes briefly. It was pointless - all she could see was the last mission, her soldiers being skewered or slice in half by masses of demons. They’d been going at this for months - maybe a year, now? - with no end in sight. The oni from the Netherrealm making periodic strikes on cities around the world, under Quan Chi’s guidance and Shinnok’s influence. And half the time, Jax or one of the others at the head of a group, leading an assault. She was exhausted. It was a perpetual state of war, and while she’d joined the service hoping for some action, this was more than even she’d planned.

“You going home soon, Major?”

She felt a surge of annoyance at being caught out daydreaming. Her office was tiny - it barely constituted an office, frankly - but it was hers as head of the interrealm strike team, and the intrusion rankled. She looked up to see the swordsman that had taken to running with them in recent months casually leaning against her doorframe. Johnny Cage had found him, or he’d found Johnny - she was still a little rough on the details - but Takahashi Kenshi had been a useful ally against the persistent demons. She still wasn’t sure what she thought of a guy claiming to be a telepath, though she’d seen the telekinesis first hand. He had a smart mouth but the skills to back it up. He was damn good in a fight, pulled his weight, and had more than three brain cells bouncing around in that head of his.

Succinctly, he hit a bunch of her buttons and was a recipe for temptation that she could not afford to give into.

“Takahashi.” She kept her greeting professional and neutral. “And not yet… there’s no way I can head out yet. Still got some work to do.” She straightened up and glared at the work in front of her. She pulled her hair out of the ponytail holder and ran her fingers through the long blonde strands. “Not my greatest mission, and I’ve gotta put it behind me.”

“It’s New Year’s,” he pointed out.

“I’m aware,” she replied with a hint of irritation. She didn’t need him to remind her.

“Surely you have somewhere you should be, some party?”

Sonya sighed and looked back up at him. He’d shed his armor - a novelty she’d seen only a handful of times - and was now just wearing a pair of slim black jeans and a loose shirt rolled up to his elbows. It bared the defined muscles of his forearms and a thin tracery of scars along them. He’d replaced his customary red blindfold with a pair of sleek sunglasses, and the hilt of his sword poked up behind one shoulder. She could see herself in the lenses of his sunglasses, and it was more than a little unnerving.

“I’ve got invitations to half a dozen,” Sonya admitted, looking back at her paperwork instead of the warrior looming in her doorway, “but I don’t know if I can. It doesn’t feel right, celebrating when there’s so much shit hitting the fan everywhere. I mean, you and Cage can head out whenever you feel like it, but this is my job. Hell - I bet Cage was off base thirty seconds after we got back. I’m surprised you didn’t go with him.”

“It was more like five minutes.” Kenshi let his arms hang loosely at his sides. “He asked, but I said I’d rather stick with this until the end. I usually don’t.”

“Yeah,” she snorted, staring at the papers in front of her. “You two usually blow out of here so fast I can feel the breeze. What’s different this time?”

“I’ve been working with Special Forces for a year now, and I’ve never stayed to see an operation through to the end. Call me curious.” He made no move to step into the room, not quite ready to set a booted foot over the line.

“Well, you’re welcome to, but there isn’t much. It’s just paperwork, right now. After-action reports, notifications, all the administrative stuff. There’s some reports to write, and then - well, usually I take a hell of a shower and rack out at home. You’re not missing much. All the bigger stuff happens upstairs.” She gestured nebulously up to where the more senior officers sat several floors up. “Maybe I’ll get up there eventually, where I make the decisions. But until then, I just get handed the orders and do my best to make sure everyone comes home. You’re welcome to take a seat, but it’s not particularly interesting.”

Only then - after she’d formally extended the offer to him - did Kenshi move into the small room. He reached out a hand, fingertips brushing across the back of the chair, and pulling it back, slowly settling himself into it as he gauged the space. She watched him as he stepped in and eased himself down, the controlled muscle movements and restrained power she usually only saw sparring or out on a mission. He was good to go up against in the ring, unpredictable and able to keep up with her despite his disability, and the right kind of challenge to get her heart pumping and adrenaline going.

She tried to turn her attention back to the paperwork and avoid losing her focus to the man suddenly taking up far more chair and mental bandwidth than she expected. He was silent, and if he wasn’t watching her in whatever weird psychic way he had, then it was damn near close.

“That’s the last of it.” She aligned the papers and tapped the sheaf out on her desk to even it all out, and looked across the desk at Kenshi. He hadn’t moved much in the chair the entire time; it would have been creepy as fuck if he hadn’t been blind. He had barely even fidgeted, and she wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep - the comedown from a mission could be fierce sometimes. “I’ve done the reports and forms and that’s really all there is to it. I’m heading home, I’ll drink some cheap champagne and watch the countdown on TV and then go pass out. Not much exciting going to happen here. You really should have gone with Cage if you wanted something interesting.”

“The quiet has been nice.”

Sonya made a scoffing sound and shook her head in disbelief. “Right.”

“Have you ever spent a weekend with Johnny?”

“No, and that’s entirely the point. It’d never be quiet if I did.”

“So you can see why I’ve enjoyed this.” He flashed her a smile. It startled a half-laugh from her.

“Well, if you want more quiet, you’re welcome to come back to my place with me and listen to the Times Square broadcast. They’re still doing it, despite everything. They cleaned the place up and they’ve got a perimeter studded with SWAT teams and some Special Forces soldiers in case there are any uninvited guests. Figure it’s worth me keeping an eye on in case shit actually hits the fan.” She blinked a few times, not sure where the offer had come from. She must really have been tired. “Got a bottle of cheap bubbly in the fridge and I can probably scare up some glasses with stems. Can’t promise much else, though.”

He seemed to consider it for several moments, and then nodded once. “It’s a far better offer than going back to the visitor’s quarters I have.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s never quite the same, and I can never feel comfortable when I cannot be sure of the layout.”

She hadn’t thought about that - always changing would definitely throw his comfort level off, and if he was going to keep working with them, she wanted him as relaxed as possible. “I bet we can get you something better, a little more permanent. I’ve got an apartment, it’s not barracks but it’s not bad. I can see about putting in a request for something similar for you. Might take a while - government’s not exactly the fastest - but I can push for something for my team.”

“Your team?” He arched a brow, and she looked at him, as if meeting his gaze.

“Yeah. You’re on my strike force, consultant, whatever you call it. You run operations with me, you’re one of my people. I do my best to treat my people well.”

His expression altered in some way she couldn’t name, a mixture of surprise and relief and nervousness, lingering on his face for a few moments before it all vanished back behind that polite and even look he maintained most of the time. She pursed her lips. Had he ever been part of a unit before, part of a team? Or had he just been running solo so long he didn’t remember, or even know, what it was like to be looked out for?

“You think on it,” she continued, “and just let me know.”

“I’m-“ He caught himself, and nodded. “I will think about it.”

“All right. I’ll give you the half-assed tour of my place when we get there, you can decide if it’s something you’d be interested in.”

“It isn’t much,” Sonya apologized not much later as they entered her apartment, “but it’s mine and nobody to share it with. Kitchen, living room’s ahead - maybe twenty steps? - and then there’s a hall on the left. Bathroom, then my room’s down past that. Single unit, single room. That’s it… nothing really fancy.” She bent down and slipped off her boots, wriggling her toes with the relief of being home. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll try to familiarize myself with the territory,” Kenshi replied, stepping in carefully and keeping his hands out slightly to brush against the wall. She supposed this was time to set up a mental map of the new place. He kept his fingers out, and she watched him - not normally a tactile person - as he began to map the layout of the room. “And do not put yourself our for me. I’ll manage.”

“Pfft.” She snorted. “I’m ordering pizza and like I said, there’s sparkling wine in the fridge. Some beers in there if you’d prefer. Could make up some coffee, but I don’t know if you’re the late-night caffeine type.”

“Whatever you’re having will be adequate, I’m sure.”

“Damning with faint praise, huh?” She rolled her eyes. “Adequate. Fine. Pizza and cheap booze it is. I don’t normally do fancy stuff. I don’t have the time for it.”

His mouth curved upwards in a smile as he walked around the room slowly, fingers trailing along the wall and brushing against the furniture as he learned it. “If I wanted overpriced showy things, I would have gone with Johnny. You’ll notice I didn’t.”

“Back in five,” she replied. His words sat heavy on her mind as she shed her pants and shirt and vest, changing them out for leggings and a tee shirt. He could have gone off to a fancy Hollywood party with Cage - and frankly, she just might have if Cage had asked her. There was some appeal to getting to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, and no matter how many times Cage offered, she’d always turned him down. Now here she was with this alleged telepath, getting ready to have the most low-key New Year’s she’d ever celebrated.

He’d even brought the sword with him - she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t offered any explanation, but she remembered something about it being where some of his weird-ass powers came from. Maybe if she got him a little loose with alcohol he’d be willing to offer up some more details; she always worked better when she understood what everyone was capable of.

“Can’t shut it off for five minutes, can you?” Sonya snorted at herself, glaring at her reflection in her mirror. “You’re off duty, you’ve got a friend over to hang out for a bit, just chill the fuck out, Blade.”

Right.

Like that’d happen.

He seemed to have gotten himself acquainted with her space by the time she returned. He’d taken down one of her knickknacks, cupping the embroidered ball gently in one hand, and tracing the raised pattern of threads with his fingers.

“You have a temari ball,” he said as she entered, not turning around. “Where did you get a temari?”

“My dad was stationed in Okinawa for a while. I was little - maybe, uh, four or five? I don’t remember a hell of a lot, but my brother and I each had one.”

“Huh.” Kenshi made a soft sound she couldn’t interpret. She walked over to stand beside him, looking at the fist-sized ball cradled in his hand. It was interlinked silk threads in intricate geometric motifs, and she knew it was wrapped around a core of old kimono scraps. “Do you remember anything about it?”

“Not a whole lot, except that it’s where some of my interest in martial arts started.” She ran her fingers across the ball, brushing her fingertips against the threads. “Also something weird we ate once. Baby bees.” She wrinkled her nose in the memory of it.

Kenshi let out a startled laugh. “You’ve had them? And you remember them?” His hand grazed hers as he set the ball back on the shelf where he’d found it. He flinched at the contact, pulling away from her as if her touch had seared his skin.

“Twenty-odd years later, yep.” She glanced at the ball, the pink and black and grey threads interwoven with each other. “Tasted like weird oatmeal, almost. Why, you Okinawan?”

“No, but it’s also not often I run into anyone who’s visited Japan beyond more than Tokyo.”

“You haven’t been running with the service very long, Okinawa gets a decent rotation. That said… I don’t think I can remember any Japanese. I knew some when I was little - my mom’s got some old home video of me singing a song for something - but I’m a military kid. Iwent where my dad got sent, and it’s likely this strike team will get deployed wherever they think we’ll be most useful. If I’m in one place for more than a couple of years it’s a surprise.”

“Where else were you?” His voice was genuinely curious, and the realization startled her. She moved towards her kitchen with a slightly quickened pace, unsure how she felt about it. She grabbed the delivery menu for the local pizza place off her fridge, and then realized the futility of proffering it to him.

“I was born in Austin, Texas. Then there was Okinawa, and Germany, and a few places in the US. Got my fill of white Christmases a few years when Dad got put someplace cold as fuck,” she finally said into the uncomfortable silence, “and then he died and we moved back to Austin. Since then… not much. Went to the military academy and got in as an officer and Jax picked me for his project and I’ve gone wherever I’ve been told to since then.”

“Major Blade, taking orders?” Kenshi quirked a brow, and she could see it arch over his sunglasses. She feigned throwing a punch in his direction, and he held up his well-sculpted forearms as if to block it.

“For that, I’m gonna make you stick around to finish the bottle of booze. You’re in it now, Takahashi.”

She leaned back against the couch, her fingers wrapped around the stem of the plastic champagne flute she’d hunted out from the back corner of a cupboard. Kenshi was regaling her with a story of one of his escapades before he’d lost his sight - something about a man he’d encountered years before (the bastard was being cagey about his age, and time seemed like a vague concept to him) and the duel they’d had that had broken half a dozen of Kenshi’s ribs and nearly punctured a lung. He had good stories, she’d give him that - and most of them might even be true, since he had the self-assured attitude and he had the skills - even blind - to back up his martial claims.

He was easy to talk to. She was disappointed it had taken this long to actually talk to him, feeling more than a little annoyed that Cage had dragged him off so rapidly after every mission (and that Kenshi had gone so easily with him). He had a good sense of tactics, even if he was convinced that all his decisions were correct and that every risk he’d taken was worthwhile. “I survived, didn’t I?” seemed to be his motto. They’d alternated stories - he seemed fascinated with her mobile childhood and the easy way she considered travel, and her ability to put roots down wherever she was and pick them up almost as quickly. He had the knack for making her drag up memories she’d thought long-lost, and she couldn’t decide if she hated it or appreciated it.

She quirked a brow as he wound up his latest story. “And I bet you have the scar to prove it?” His mouth tugged up at one side and he lifted his shirt without a second thought, revealing the defined muscles of his abdomen and chest, and a twisting slice of a scar across one side of his ribs. She reached out without thinking at the proffered expanse of skin and muscle, then pulled her hand away before she made contact with his skin.

“I can back everything up with evidence, Major.”

“I’m sure you can.” She bit the tip of her tongue against the urge to ask if he was as thorough in _all_ his exploits. “And I’m not Major here, not at home. Gods know it’s the only place I can actually not be on the clock, sometimes. It’s nice to just be Sonya, without all the rest of the baggage.”

Kenshi had flinched when she’d touched him earlier, but over the drinks and TV they’d edged closer and closer together. Now, some of his gestures brushed against her fingers or her forearm, as if easing himself into physical contact. The last barrier of his sunglasses had vanished halfway through the bottle of Prosecco. He had deliberately removed the eyewear, and set them on her coffee table with an odd sense of weight to the process. His eyes were pale, cloudy white, though she could see the dark circles of what had probably been gorgeously dark irises, hidden behind the damage.

 _Fuck it_. Now, as the brilliantly bright ball dropped in Times Square, hundreds of miles away, she threw caution to the wind. Sonya leaned forward and touched her lips to his in an almost perfunctory manner. It was just tradition, and had absolutely no personal interest. None at all. Not one bit.

He was clearly ready for it, if not anticipating her move. He pressed his lips back against hers, warm and willing, lingering a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Her heart quickened at the contact, the heat of his mouth lingering against hers. She pulled away ever so slightly, her mouth and throat suddenly dry.

Sonya opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. _Don’t fucking overthink this, Blade. And don’t blow it_. She leaned in again as he did the same, noses brushing against each other as they kissed again. His mouth opened easily for her, and he made a soft and encouraging sound, his fingers tangling in the hem of her shirt and tugging her gently towards him.

It wasn’t long before she was straddling him on her couch, their mouths hungry and busy making themselves intimately acquainted with one another. Between kisses, he traced the lines of her features - nose and chin, jaw and lips - with unexpectedly delicate gestures. She shivered as he traced over the shell of her ear, the small touch sparking through her body. Their foreheads pressed together and sharing breaths, she tried not to take too much satisfaction in the soft sounds of surprised pleasure he made every time she touched him. Her fingers ran along his chest, over the thin cotton of his shirt, and a low moan worked its way from his throat.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she said, her own voice going low. It would be hard to stop - all she wanted was her hands on him, his fingers and mouth on her, but she would do it if he asked.

“Don’t,” he said, and she could see the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “I just… Physical contact isn’t something I have much. Skin-to-skin contact, that is. This is almost too much.”

“I’ll be gentle,” she teased, and he made a rough snort in reply.

“I didn’t ask for that.” He reached for her almost greedily, as if now that he had the chance for the contact he was going to drink it up until he was sated. His hands settled on her hips, the curve of her body under his palms. She could easily feel the warmth of his body burning through her pants and shirt. His bare fingers dragged up her back with painful slowness. His lips part halfway, eyes closing and a little furrow appearing between his brows - worry? Restraint? He wasn’t pushing her away, whatever it is.

She cupped his face in her hands in return, running her thumbs along his cheeks. His hands froze momentarily against her before resuming their exploration of her body. Creeping ever-upward, his fingers stilled against her bra strap. She kissed him again, hoping he took it for what it was - an encouragement she couldn’t put into words. She felt him grin, his fingers working for a moment to unclip the strap. His grin widened against her mouth as he worked the bra clip free, and his fingers immediately slid along the newly-exposed skin.

“Are you certain this doesn’t count as fraternizing?”

“Door’s not that far if you want to back out now, Takahashi.”

“I have absolutely no intention of backing down.” He caught her mouth with his again, teeth drawing down on her lower lip and sucking gently at it. The sensation sparked heat low in her core, and she let out a quiet, happy sound. “You may have noticed that I am disinclined to back down from anything.” His voice was warm, curling around her the same way his hands ran along her, mapping her out the same way he’d mapped out the apartment earlier.

She settled on his lap with more of her weight. His fingers tucked themselves over her hips and squeezed gently, holding her in place against him. Her mouth curved upwards in a self-satisfied grin. “You do seem to rise to the occasion.”

He laughed. “That’s never in doubt, particularly where you have been concerned.” He lifted up her shirt and they both worked it off, the offending garment ending up somewhere on her floor. “I confess I am surprised you haven’t noticed by now.” He ran his fingers along her ribs slowly, marking each one with a slow, savoring deliberation. She shifted and he let out a soft groan, fingers digging into her skin briefly before he pressed his palms against her, hands bright sparks of heat across her body. It felt good - better than it should have, but she deserved something easy and fun right now, low stakes, no strings attached.

“Not sure that’s a lot of flattery coming from a blind guy.”

“I know what everyone is thinking.” His fingers danced up her sides to find her bra’s shoulder straps, pulling them down over her shoulders. She let the bra fall to the floor, swallowing once. He might be blind, but he still had a semi-awed look on his face, lips parted and unseeing eyes fixed forwards on her.

“And what do they think?”

“That you’re going to kill them, but you’re hot enough that it’s worth it.”

She burst out laughing, and some of the tension in her eased, bubbling up with the laugh. It had been a long time since she’d laughed. “Start naming names, Takahashi.”

“Oh, I’m not _that_ stupid,” he said, something in his shoulders relaxing, and she tipped her head down onto one of those shoulders, kissing the side of his neck just to watch him tip his head back so she could admire the curve of his throat.

“Wonder what I’ve gotta do to get the names out of you,” she mused, nipping at the skin again and feeling him shudder against her. He was _easy,_ in the best of ways. It was like now that they’d gone this far there was no point in him pretending to be anything other than interested in her. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her collarbones and working a trail down her chest. He paused halfway, looking up at her with what she’d swear was mischief on his face.

“It’s half the soldiers who work with you. I don’t have time to list them all.”

She laughed again - _damn_ it felt good to laugh - and then thinking became far more effort than it was worth as his mouth trailed hot lines across her body. His teeth dragged gently across her skin, and every sound she made seemed to drive him on.

She gave herself up purely to the pleasure he was giving her. He had damn talented hands, his fingers playing along her skin and taking his time to memorize the contours of her body as they managed to get off the couch and not much further, sprawling on the soft piled carpet of her living room floor. She wasn’t sure when the rest of her clothes disappeared, but it was like she blinked and he was shirtless and she was naked and his fingers were stroking along the inside of her thigh, moving upward and inward and fanning the flame of lust in her.

Kenshi’s fingertips brushed up the apex of her thighs, and there was something questioning in his expression, the arch of his eyebrows and what she’d swear was a look of want on his face. She tipped her legs open, trying to say “yeah” but only able to make a creak of confirmation, before hauling his face to hers to kiss again. His fingers edged upwards and inwards, and _fuck_ he was good with his hands, working their way along and inside her until she was letting out mortifyingly needy sounds. She cursed the blindness that made his eyes so hard to read, but the heavier breathing on his part, his half-opened mouth and the flush of red across his body gave her a clue.

That, and the fact that every time she made a noise, he paid more attention to whatever he’d been doing and kept at it until he got more of the noises he’d been after. She’d gotten out of the habit of being vocal - between barracks and thin walls, she didn’t want to broadcast her sex life to everyone. But he seemed to thrive on it, and since he was missing the visual cues, she tried to let loose.

“Come here,” she croaked through dry lips and a thick tongue. He flicked his thumb over her clit and she moaned despite herself, biting down on her lower lip. “Fuck, Kenshi-“

He shifted around, marking a line of kisses up the center of her body, sucking a mark into the skin of her shoulder. She grabbed his hair in her fingers and tugged him away. As good as it felt, a minefield of hickeys would be embarrassing to explain.

“I want to hear you.” His breath was hot on her neck, warm and moist against her skin. “I want to feel you, hear you come for me.”

“Not asking much, are you?” She was proud of how controlled her voice sounded, an utter contrast to the tempest of desire in her body. “I just don’t want half the goddamned base to hear me.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” He redoubled his efforts until she squirmed beneath him, his tongue featherlight on the shell of her ear and her entire body screaming with need and some stupid part of her refusing to let her get off. She wanted to kiss him and just if he’d move his thumb a little to the fucking left and push-

And he _did_ , a moment after she thought it, and that finally convinced her he was a telepath. She felt the grin on his face as he kissed her again and did exactly what her body wanted and her mind had the barest ability to think about. It was the smuggest grin she’d ever encountered as he worked her up and over the edge. The liquid fire in her core spread throughout her body as she muffled herself against his shoulder. She bit into the bare skin and felt his body tense against her. His fingers kept moving, working her up one side and down the other, until she was boneless, Sonya-shaped jelly puddled on her living room floor.

“That was nice,” she said thickly, and watched as he licked her off his fingertips. She hauled him down and kissed him, messy and open-mouthed, chasing her taste on his lips and in the corners of his mouth.

“Only nice?” He feigned being wounded, and she made a little scoffing sound.

She reached down in response, fingers hunting out the waistband of his pants and working her fingers in along the smooth skin. He tipped his head back and groaned, and she laughed low with satisfaction. She liked it when they made it easy, or at least made it clear when she was on the right track.

“Nice is good,” she said, rolling him onto his back and looking down at him. He looked good enough to eat, all that lean sinewy muscle right in front of her. She was the cat who had the cream, and it was hard to resist the urge to lick her lips. She slid her fingers back down his chest, watching him arch slightly under the path of her touch. “Nice is really good. But better would be getting my hands on you properly.”

“That sounds like a threat or a promise.”

“Both.” She reached her fingertips into the waistband of his pants once more, and he proved unexpectedly adept at wriggling out of his clothes. She leaned back for a moment, and then did lick her lips, because she was going to enjoy the hell out of this. She’d had a dry spell she didn’t want to think of, so eaten up by fighting and the war that the idea of taking anyone to bed (or floor) had been abandoned. It required a sense of vulnerability she didn’t feel comfortable with, but he’d somehow managed to wrangle his way in. The fact that he’d trusted her enough, too… Her stomach flip-flopped for a moment, having him stretched out beneath her, waiting.

If there was a terrified look on his face, it was gone in a heartbeat as his hands resumed their perpetual motion along her. They caught in her hair as she took her own turn sliding her palms along him, feeling the lines of muscle and the scattering of scars over his chest. She dropped kisses along them, listening to his own groans of pleasure. She worked her way down across his abdomen, his fingers freeing her hair so she could drag it across him as she moved ever slowly downward. She wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him from crown to base, feeling him already slick with proof of his own desire. He let out a rough, choked sound. She stilled her hand at the sound.

“That’s good,” he said, seeming to find speech as hard as she had. “Just not used to it.” He lapsed into a few moments of whispered Japanese as she resumed her movements, feeling him get almost impossibly hard in her hands. It was good to know that she was doing something right. She shifted downwards further and flipped her hair over her head, giving her a clear view of his flushed chest, half-lidded eyes, and parted lips.

“Kinda a shame, if you think about it.” She kept her hand moving, and felt him thrust up into the circle of her fingers. “Don’t see any reason you shouldn’t be. Used to it, I mean.”

“Too many people want to offer the blind man a pity fuck,” he managed. “And I don’t want that.” She snorted, sliding her hand down to the base of him and squeezing gently. “You have no pity in you. And I’m aware,” he added quickly, “there’s a line there begging to be said, but I won’t.”

“Clever man.”

There was very little said after that, tongues and lips busy with other things. Kenshi proved cleverness with hands constantly on the move over her. She rose up on her knees above him, wavering in a moment of indecision. His hands slid up and down her thighs with gentle pressure and urged her inexorably downwards, until they were joined at the hips, both breathing heavily as they adjusted to the new sensation. Short words of encouragement turned to monosyllables, and then to sounds of pure pleasure.

She leaned down to tangle her fingers with his, and he froze, almost jerking away, shaking his head against the carpet. It was the first time she’d seen him genuinely discomfited.

“I need my hands,” he gasped. She nodded in understanding. Her fingers trailed along the underside of his arms and climbed back along his body, while his resumed playing across her skin and dipping down between her legs. She reached for his hands, guiding them along her, savoring the way his fingers left trails of heat across her skin.

She wasn’t sure how long they spent chasing pleasure, lost in their shared pursuit and enjoyment of each other’s bodies. He helped bring her up to a second climax, and found his own moments later. He slid his arms around her back and pulled her down against his chest. She rested willingly and easily against him, spreading a hand over his chest. Kenshi’s heart pounded beneath her palm, his jerky breathing easing slowly.

“Happy New Year?”

He chuckled, brushing some of her hair out of his face.

“Very. If this is what staying to sit with you while you finish paperwork gets me, I may need to reconsider my habits.”

“As long as we make it to a bed next time. My knees are killing me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> **Feedback**
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)
> 
> **Author Responses**  
>  This author replies to comments. If you want to leave a comment but not receive a response (sometimes you're too nervous and I get that!), just add "no response needed" and I will refrain from replying. :)


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